Welcome to My Nightmare oneshot Spectrum
by azure-tears
Summary: Set in the WtMN universe, so MxB and FxH. Bloo wanders out on his own and discovers some secrets about Mac's family that might've been better off left uncovered. After chapter two, it falls into an even darker AU where Bloo discovers what he can and can't do when Mac suddenly disappears from his life.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is old, but I felt like posting it. So, enjoy? Set in the same universe as WtMN.

Welcome to My Nightmare one-shot: Spectrum

"But, Frankie, _c'mon_," Bloo whined.

"No, Bloo," she said, slamming down a bag of 'groceries', or their approximate, on the kitchen table. "And that's final."

"But, _Frankie_," he whined. "I wanna get a bag of chips."

"You know the rules," she said. "The creators are responsible for their imaginary friends, and the imaginary friends without creators go out on a buddy system, or not at all. You're just going to have to live without potato chips until Mac decides to bring you to the surface."

Bloo sulked, folding his arms across his chest. He glared at the groceries- not a potato chip bag in sight. Frankie shopped incognito, to prevent anyone from identifying her or linking her to Foster's, and what she bought tended to be health food. No one underground exercised enough to work off the junk food, and the junk food was a special treat for someone's birthday or a specific event. Bloo eyed the food with distaste and sulked.

The kitchen was small and cramped; they had a dining room, also underground, also small and cramped, just like everywhere else in Foster's. Bloo glared at the kitchen table, currently buried under the groceries. Frankie knew he wasn't going to help her put them away, and was just going to stand there and complain about it. She ignored him.

"Mac's been holed up in his room all day," he groused. "I wanna go _now_."

"Really?" Frankie said, stretching and standing straight after putting lettuce in the bottom drawer. She frowned thoughtfully at Bloo. "I thought he'd gone out."

Bloo's jaw dropped. "He went out? _Without _me? What? But! But!" He sputtered.

Frankie shrugged. "Seemed to think it was pretty important, though he wouldn't tell me what it was."

"_He went out without me_?" Bloo shrieked. He sputtered again, incoherent little word fragments. He threw his hands up in the air and headed for an exit. Frankie yanked him back by the collar and glared at him.

"What did I just explain to you about not leaving without an escort?"

"I'll be fine," he snorted. "Besides, Mac's totally lost without me."

"Mac will be _fine _without you," she said. "And you're not allowed on your own. It'd be different if you were any other imaginary-"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, mouth agape again. "That I'm not _responsible_? That I can't _take care of myself_?"

"That's exactly what that's supposed to mean," she said, closing the lettuce crisper. "You don't think before you do, you rush into things headfirst, and you don't consider anyone else before you jump into anything."

"I'll show you responsible!" he said. "I'll go out right now and find Mac, bring him back here, and remind him he's not supposed go out without an escort!"

He got a few inches away from her before she yanked his collar back. "No go, Romeo. Mac is allowed on the surface on his own. The creators and humans all are. It's the imaginary friends who are in danger. And no offense, but even with the belt on, you still don't look entirely human. The blue skin is a dead giveaway."

"Then I'll just put on concealer," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to do a good deed and bring back Mac. You'll see."

"You're not allowed to leave Foster's without Mac, and since he's not here, you're not leaving," she said. "You're staying put, even if I have to duck tape you to the kitchen chair."

(Twenty minutes later)

"I'll get even with you, Frankie Foster, even if it's the last thing I ever do!" Bloo vowed, banging his chair up and down. She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands together.

"The food's put away. Time to watch some TV," she said and stuck her tongue out at Bloo. "And try not to tear your clothing too much when you 'valiantly' escape. Mac keeps using up all my thread."

"You haven't heard the last from me!" he screamed when she walked out of the room. She turned and flung the duct tape at his head. It impacted off his forehead and landed on the floor.

* * *

><p>A bloodied, irritated Bloo had a sixth sense for where Mac had gone. He shambled along, flipping people off for staring, and ignored the tears and rips his clothing had undergone. He'd escaped Frankie's punishment, all right, and in time to overhear what he thought was a romantic interlude between her and Mr. Herriman. That was enough to almost kill his appetite right there. Then he remembered. Potato chips. And Mac, wherever he'd gone off too.<p>

He found Mac sitting alone on a park bench facing skeletal trees. The bench sat on an isolated patch of ground, with no grass, and a few yards behind the bench were chess tables. Beyond the bench, in front of it, two men sat and spoke in low tones. One of them had half gloves, with the fingers cut off, and the other had a bum's hat. Neither of them looked particularly well off, and both could have used a decent home cooked meal. They were skinny and very bristly; their coats were second hand and patched in many places. Their hair needed to be washed and cut and, even from this far away, Bloo wrinkled his nose at their odor. Poor people always smelled like sour milk.

"How dare you go to the surface without me," Bloo hissed, sitting next to Mac. Mac didn't hear him. His eyes were rooted to the bum with black hair and grey eyes. His face was blockish and his hair was long and straggly. Bloo's eyes darted from Mac's face to the man sitting near them and back again. Mac's hands were balled into eager fists on his lap.

"Hello, Earth to Mac," Bloo said, waving a hand in front of his face. "What's so exciting about a bum?"

"I think that's my father," Mac said. Bloo jumped and snorted.

"Your father's dead," he said in an undertone and blinked. "Isn't he?"

"I don't know," Mac replied. He hadn't questioned how Bloo had arrived at the scene or where he'd come from. In fact, he had yet to look at his imaginary friend, despite Bloo waving a hand in front of his face.

"It's not like he's been looking for you all these years," Bloo snorted.

"He might not have been because he didn't know where to find me," Mac breathed. "Think about it, Bloo. We've been in hiding for seven years now."

Bloo didn't reply. He didn't like the fervent gleam in Mac's eyes, and he, for once, had switched roles with his creator. He wanted to advise caution and for Mac not to jump into anything too rashly, because they didn't know who this man was. And Foster's needed to keep a low profile. Mac rose, in a dream, from the bench, and Bloo tugged him back down.

"Or maybe he hasn't been looking for you and he doesn't want anything to do with you," Bloo hissed.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask, would it?" Mac said and looked at his creation for the first time. He took in the scrape above Bloo's eye, the cuts and bruises on his arms and legs from the duck tape, and the tattered condition of his clothing. "Aren't you supposed to be at home?"

"I was until _someone _told me that a certain _someone _snuck out of the house without me," Bloo said, sighing dramatically. "Mac, how could you leave me in the stale underground and go off on your own _adventure_?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I got distracted. I went out with Frankie to shop and I saw this man…and…oh, no! He's leaving!"

The man with the square face stood up, shook the other bum's hand, and proceeded on his merry way. Mac jumped to his feet and headed in the man's direction. Or, rather, he intended to. A well placed pull from Bloo sent Mac sprawling onto the ground. His brown eyes clouded in anger and he rose again, dusting himself off and shoving Bloo at the bench. Bloo shoved him back.

"He abandoned you once," Bloo snapped. "He isn't interested in seeing you again."

"You don't know that," he countered. "Mom couldn't tell me much about him before she died. You don't know anything."

"I know that you're going to make a fool of yourself if you go over there," he replied. "Now, c'mon, let's get my chips and-"

"_No_." His eyes blazed and he pushed his imaginary friend's arms off him. He strode over to the square headed man, who saw Mac and hastened his departure. Bloo growled, baring his teeth, and skidded around to block the man's exit. It was a wide avenue, however, and all showing up in front of him did was startle him.

The park's bathroom was to Bloo's right and he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, kids exiting the wooden cabin building. The dirt path beneath his shoes felt bumpy and full of pebbles. The sky overhead was a clear, bright blue…and the square jawed man wore the same kind of plaid shirt Terrence had. Bloo shook his head at himself. Terrence was another person they were never going to see again.

"Are you or aren't you Mac's father?" Bloo snapped. The man's eyes widened at Mac and he skidded around Bloo. Bloo tackled him around the waist and the man squirmed out of his grip.

"Gonna go out on a limb here and say he recognized you," Bloo said, his lower lip curling in disgust. "Jeez. So not only are you a bum, but you're a stinky one who doesn't want to acknowledge his own son."

"So you _are _my father?" Mac breathed.

"Yes," the man said curtly and glowered at Bloo. "Now get away before I sic D.I.E. on both of you."

"You wouldn't dare," Bloo said. The man shoved Bloo off and stood, brushing himself off even though he was already filthy. Bloo glared pure hatred at him.

"Human form or not, you're still an imaginary," the man said. "And D.I.E. has ways of dealing with imaginaries."

"But why would you run?" Mac asked. "And why would you sic D.I.E. on us? We didn't do anything."

"If I wanted anything to do with you, I would have found you," the man snapped. "I didn't, and I don't, so go on. Scram."

Mac's face fell and Bloo wanted to punch the guy out for breaking his creator's heart like that. The man had about six inches in height over him, so Bloo propelled himself up and punched him in the side of the head. The man went down like a ton of bricks and Bloo cheered…right up until they got the attention of a guard. It was too far away to tell whether it was a police officer or a DIE official, but they didn't want to stay and find out.

* * *

><p>Mac curled up on his bed later and hugged his knees. Bloo sat on the bed next to him and frowned. Mac had barely said two words to him since they came back. Instead, the brown haired boy had huddled on the bed and remained stoic. It scared Bloo. He didn't like when Mac lapsed into thought for so long.<p>

"Sorry about before…" he said. He had his potato chips, but, after munching a couple, they didn't seem important. "I told you your father was a loser-"

"He didn't want to be near me," Mac said. "He was going to sic D.I.E. on us. And we didn't do anything to him."

"You mean before I punched him out, right?"

"Yes, Bloo," Mac said through gritted teeth. "Before you punched him out. You didn't need to do that."

"He deserved it," he said and lay back in bed. He shot back up and grinned devilishly. "I know what'll cheer you up."

"No."

"You didn't hear my suggestion," Bloo whined. Mac glared so forcefully Bloo gulped and backed up.

"I'm not in the mood."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"Nothing. Go bug Frankie."

"She's off with Mr. Herriman," Bloo said and shuddered. "What do you think they _do_, anyway? It's kind of creepy."

"I don't know," Mac said, sighing. "I want to be left alone."

"You could be left alone with me in the room," Bloo said.

"No," Mac said. "I can't. I'll talk to you later."

He buried his face in the pillow and Bloo's heart wrenched. He lay alongside his creator and wrapped his arms around him. In a few seconds, hoarse sobs wracked Mac's frame and he buried his face into Bloo's neck. Feeling rather awkward, Bloo listened to Mac sob and tried comforting him as best he could, but Mac didn't appear to hear him. If Bloo saw that man again, it'd mean war.

* * *

><p>Bloo had skills at sneaking out. He didn't often mention said skills, because he'd be punished severely, but he had them. And it meant slipping out of Foster's and onto the streets proved a sitch. In a double dose of daring, he had left his belt behind and moved around as his imaginary form. Mac would have burst a vein should he find out about this, but Bloo didn't think he would. What little he had planned out didn't involve being captured, so he wouldn't be. It was as simple as that.<p>

Mac had cried himself to sleep, bringing Bloo's blood to a boil. No one screwed with his creator like that. Punching the guy out wasn't good enough, not if Mac still hurt. He had to punish him in a way that would stick.

It had started to snow, a thick flurry obfuscating the world surrounding him. Flakes flew down and whipped into Bloo's face; Bloo flung an arm to protect himself and shuffled on. No one, except for a few stray DIE officials Bloo avoided, stood outside at the moment. It was easy to blend into the scenery considering the night's darkness and his small, adroit form. He had to constantly remind himself of his mission, however, because his attention span danced all over the place. Plus, the cool night air was not something he normally experienced. It was a gift and damn, it made Bloo not want to return at all.

Besides, he'd always wondered what building a snowman was like. Some of the other imaginary friends said it gave them frostbite, but Bloo didn't think they were doing it right. More snow, wet and cold, smacked Bloo in the face and he ducked behind a store when a DIE member strode by, talking into a walkie-talkie. His heart hammered in his chest and he listened to the DIE member, whose black clothing made it impossible to determine her features.

"The trap is set, then?" the girl said.

"Trap?" Bloo echoed and the girl spun, snatching her flashlight and shining it into the alley. Bloo jumped into a trashcan and waited, heart racing, and hoping she missed the trash can he had. It faced the wall, but if she rattled it, she'd hear the extra weight. He listened to her footsteps and only relaxed when she retreated.

Once the flashlight vanished, he hopped back out and tried to remember his mission. He had wanted potato chips, but no, that was earlier. He shook his head at himself. What was it he had wanted to do? It had something to do with Mac…argh. Lubricant wasn't it, because they hadn't had sex yet. And…

"Yes, I'm sure it's his son," the girl barked into the receiver. "He has the same shaped head, eye color, and he admitted the fugitive Mac was his son."

That was it. That was why Bloo had left Foster's. It all came back to him…and then the horror of the situation crashed down on him. Mac's father was a trap for Mac. If Bloo sought him out, he'd be trapped too. Unless he didn't get caught.

A random bullet whizzed right next to Bloo's face and he suppressed a whimper. Okay, so maybe the last plan was out. He might be better off returning to Mac. But he didn't think his creator was going to like this very much. A few more bullets told him it was better for him to hightail out of here.

He skipped back to Foster's and threw himself back under the covers before Mac even knew he was gone.

* * *

><p>"It's a trap," Bloo announced when Mac woke up the next morning. Mac, bleary eyed and not entirely awake yet, stared at his imaginary friend. Bloo turned on the lamp; without the clock on the wall telling them the time, it could have been nighttime for all they knew. Daylight was a distant dream underground.<p>

"What's a trap?" Mac said and scowled. "Bloo, you didn't go out after curfew last night, did you?"

Bloo smiled innocently. "What makes you think that? I'd never do something-"

"_Blooregard Q. Kazoo! Get out here now_!" Frankie screeched and Bloo feigned ignorance. He spun the dial over to imaginary friend and scooted to the door.

"She probably wants to congratulate me on my good behavior the last few weeks," Bloo said. "After all, I've set a stellar example for imaginary friends everywhere."

He opened the door and Frankie looked ready to breathe fire. She inclined her head at Mac and hauled Bloo up by the scruff of his neck. He grinned at her innocently and she snarled, slamming the door and leaving Mac staring blankly. He should probably get dressed. This should be interesting…though maybe he'd be better off avoiding Frankie until she'd vented her anger.

* * *

><p>"Read that!" she said and thrust a chart in Bloo's face.<p>

"I don't really see…" he demurred and she slammed his head into it. Dazed, he blinked up at her and she pointed to a time and date she'd underlined in red. It was the last exit date before the morning, and he knew it specifically referred to him sneaking out while Mac was asleep. He knew it, but he sure as hell wasn't going to own up to it.

"So, that could be any imaginary friend sneaking out late at night," he said. "You can't prove anything."

"What about the picture next to the date?" she retorted.

"Wow, what a handsome devil," Bloo said. "Does he live here?"

"That 'handsome devil' was _you_, Bloo, and you could have gotten us all killed!" Frankie screamed. "What the hell were you thinking, going at two in the morning!"

"Um, of what D.I.E. might be up to and possible ways to stop them?" Bloo said and grinned at her. Frankie did not smile back. Her eyes shot warning sparks at him and he batted his eyelashes at her.

"Miss Frances, what is the meaning of this?" Mr. Herriman said, in his human form. "The other imaginary friends can hear you all over the underground, and you have woken my creator."

"Read it and weep, rabbit," she said, handing him the sheet. "This little 'rebel' decided he wanted to sneak out late at night. I say he shouldn't be allowed top side privileges for a month, for starters."

"My word…" Mr. Herriman said and scowled at Bloo. "This is a serious infraction."

"All right, fine, you want the truth?" Bloo said, folding his arms across his chest. "I lied. It wasn't to go after D.I.E., and it wasn't for a bag of chips, though I could really go for some right now. Are there any in the cupboard?"

"No, Bloo, and you're not getting any more for two months," Frankie said. Bloo whined and she balled her fists, looking ready to slap him across the face.

"If it wasn't for DIE and it wasn't for potato chips, then what other possible selfish reason could you have for risking our entire existence?" Mr. Herriman said.

"It was for Mac," he said and they exchanged a glance.

"Mac," Frankie repeated.

"Yes, Mac. My creator. You know, kinda short guy with brown hair, brown eyes, looks geeky and is really good at paddleball."

"We know who he is," Frankie scoffed. "What I can't believe is that you expect us to believe you snuck out at two in the morning for his sake."

"Frankie, Frankie, Frankie," he said and smiled. "Frankie. Would I ever lie about something to do with Mac?"

"Well, no," she admitted, "but you never do anything for Mac. It's always about you. It always has been."

"Then let me tell you just this once you are _wrong_, and it has everything to do with Mac. And me. But mostly Mac."

"I'll bite," she said. "But you'd better be telling the truth, buster, or you're in for it."

"You really believe this hooligan?" Mr. Herriman said.

"Let's see what he has to say first," Frankie said. "All right, Bloo, 'wow us'."

Bloo cleared his throat and posed dramatically. "It all started yesterday which, as you remember, happened to be the day _my _creator left _me _to wither and die under here while he gallivanted around on the surface…"

* * *

><p>Frankie and Mr. Herriman excused themselves to discuss the matter privately. She ran her fingers over her hair self consciously and he touched the back of her neck. It sent shivers down her spine and she smiled weakly, moving away from him so not to be distracted at the moment.<p>

"I don't know," Frankie said. "It's possible."

"When has Blooregard ever stated the truth?" Mr. Herriman said.

"I know he's a selfish jerk," she said, "but you know how much he loves Mac. Even if did involve us almost getting caught, his heart was in the right place for once."

"Be that as it may, Miss Frances-"

"Oh, you can cut the crap," she scoffed. "It's only us."

"Frankie," he said quietly, "he still broke the rules. We have to hold him responsible for it."

"Okay," she said. "Let's say I agree with you. Who's going to tell Mac his dad's going to get him killed?"

"As matriarch of the house, I believe is your duty," he said and grimaced. "Or perhaps we should not tell him."

"If we don't tell him, Bloo's gonna blab anyway," she said. "And he'll make it sound like some dramatic rescue plot where he saved Mac, the damsel in distress, from the horrible Dad dragon. Trust me, you haven't heard a tall tale until you've heard it from Bloo.

"Besides, Mac's a big boy. I'm sure he can handle it."

"I shall go and inform the other friends," Mr. Herriman said and kissed her on the cheek. "Good luck, Frankie."

"I don't think I need it, but thanks," she said and grabbed him by the arm. "Though I could use a better kiss for good luck, just in case."

She grinned mischievously and planted one on the lips. Mr. Herriman stumbled and she tousled his hair.

"Frankie, someone could see us," he muttered urgently.

"Oh, like three quarters of the friends and humans in here don't already know we're together," she said. "You only think they don't."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Mac, can I talk to you?" Frankie said gently.<p>

"Bloo said you grounded him for two months," Mac said. "He didn't tell me why."

"Typical," she growled. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went to bug Eduardo about video games," the boy said, shrugging. "He was ranting and raving about you and Mr. H."

"Also typical," she said. "Can I sit down?"

"Of course," he said. "What's Bloo so worked up about, anyway?"

"He snuck out at two in the morning," she said. "And we punished him. But this isn't about that."

"I knew he had," Mac grumbled. "I just knew it. Damn it, Bloo, I told you not to."

Frankie smiled at him. "When's the last time Bloo ever listened to us?"

"Never," Mac groaned. "Did you come here to tell me that?"

"No," she said and rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't need to pull you aside from that. You created him. You already know."

"Okay," he said. "Then what is it. Nothing's happened, as it?"

"No," she groaned. "Nothing really…Mac, you met your father yesterday, didn't you?"

"Ugh, what else did Bloo tell you?" he said. He scowled. "I told him to keep his mouth shut."

"I know you love your father, and you miss him," she said, easing her way into the conversation.

"I don't think I actually knew him well enough to miss him," he pointed out.

"We have reason to believe he might be working rather closely with DIE, and if that's the case, then I think it's best if you avoid him, for all our sakes'," she said. "You understand, don't you?"

"I'd never do anything to put the house in jeopardy," he said. "Was this what Bloo found out last night?"

She nodded and hugged him. "I promise, there will be a day when we can walk on the surface and not have to worry about these things. Until that day, though…"

"I'll be careful," he promised. "I owe you guys everything."

They thought it at the same time, though neither vocalized it. _Except freedom_.

* * *

><p>Mac and Bloo avoided the surface, Mac because he knew the risk lessened as time progressed, and Bloo because of his punishment. To occupy him, he'd created a new game which, although it led to massive clean ups, seemed to drive Bloo's punishment out of his mind. It didn't entirely remove Mac's melancholy, however. He wanted to know his father, but betraying Foster's wasn't an option. He'd meant what he'd said to Frankie. They had given him everything and asked nothing in return, save he help keep them all alive.<p>

It was probably for the best Bloo kept himself underground anyway. Mac shuddered to think what might happen if Bloo attracted the wrong kind of attention and brought the entire house down on their heads.

Knowing Bloo, he wouldn't put it past him.


	2. Brave

A/N: I forgot my account email and password for this account. Heh. I also suddenly fell into Foster's again.

Brave

It's been two weeks and three days since Mac died. This is how Bloo keeps track of time now. He scratches marks on the wall and wishes he were dead.

But Berry won't let him die. And neither will this strange woman, who looks hauntingly familiar but won't tell him her real name. When she speaks, her voice is distorted and since mind voices don't sound like regular voices, it leaves him grasping at straws. But neither of these women will let him die, which is what he wants more than anything else. He wants to die and join Mac.

The strange woman, his teacher, who teaches him regardless of whether he wants to use his powers or not, stands uncertainly in his room now. She had red hair once- he can see the redness seeping back into her roots. She wears a rabbit paw around her neck and it too, recalls a distant memory, but whenever he reaches for it, it's gone, blocked from his mind. This woman can pull the strings; she's the most powerful mental adept they have. If she wants you to forget something, you'd have a better chance of raising the dead than remembering. The dead. Oh, Mac.

He doesn't know why she's in his room. Berry told her not to stay unless she had to teach him, and she's already done that today. His room is a bland, large room he doesn't care for. It's decorated matching his skin color, and it could be all black or all red, and he still wouldn't care. The window looks out on the town and a lake nearby. Nothing. He wouldn't care if it looked out over the wilderness. He scuffs his foot on the floor and looks up at the woman standing in his room.

She's slim, wearing a green sweater, and again, the half jerk in his memory is suppressed. Like him, she doesn't speak with words, only thoughts. She told him once it was almost impossible to lie mind to mind, and after the crap he's been through, he never wants to lie again. He stares at her and balls his fists. They deny him sharp instruments; they deny him blunt instruments; they deny his body the motions that might kill him. Berry's mind control works too well, though it only provides restrictions, not observation. No one knows that this woman isn't teaching him what she's supposed to.

"Bloo," she says and he jumps, startled. Berry has forbidden anyone to call him it now, because it's associated with "dark ages" and, more notably, the name his creator gave him. Bloo doesn't even call himself it much anymore- he prefers M.B., a fusing of his name and his beloved creator's. His stomach churns and his heart sinks.

But he didn't know she knew the name. Again, another mental jerk and it slides across his consciousness, never to be seen again.

_Why are you here?_ he thinks at her.

_Bloo-_ she stops herself and swallows hard. Tears glitter in her eyes and she holds her hands stiffly at her sides, like she'd love to fling her arms around him but is holding herself back by a very thin wire.

_Not Bloo,_ he snaps, irritated. _Not anymore. It's M.B._

The correction scatters her thoughts too and she hesitates. Then, whatever she thought returns to her and she resumes. _It's about Mac._

Almost predictably, the mental shields she taught him how to invoke slam down and she can't speak to him mind to mind anymore. Sharp steel trap teeth glint when she projects a thought at him, and sidestepping those would lead to mental land mines. He'd smile grimly, but he hasn't smiled since weeks before Mac died. He thinks it might hurt his lips now.

"Bloo, don't do this," she hisses and shuts the door.

"Don't call me Bloo!" he retorts. His voice is hoarse from disuse. "How do you even know-"

He doesn't know why he thinks it, but he sees an image of a red haired woman wearing a green jacket and purple skirt. He shakes his head at it and stares at her. Same face. Same voice, were it not for the distortion. "Frankie?"

She taught him how to build them and she knows how to wipe through them. The knowledge is plucked from his mind again, a ninja swooping in past his mental defenses and stealing it away from him. It leaves him with a faint throbbing behind his temples and he sees, for the first time, brown power seeping around him. It fades away as quickly as her real name.

"You can't know who I am," she whispers urgently. She knocks over his defenses like they're wooden blocks. It was an illusion she couldn't speak to him mind to mind; he would seethe, if there were room for anger beyond the heartbreak.

_The brown you see is Mac._

He stares at her dully. He doesn't understand and he doesn't want to understand.

She sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she projects an image to him and he sees himself the way she sees him. Overlapping blue and brown auras, the spots overlapping sloppy and ill defined. Whereas the blue clings to him, the brown flits in and out, almost like it's not connected to him except through certain spots of his blue aura.

She touches a spot in the air near him and he jumps, hair standing on end and jolted. _You absorbed Mac's power, his personality, into you when he-_

"No!" he growls. The word is shocked from his lips before he can contain himself. "No, no, no!"

Her green eyes are horribly sad and she looks at the corner of the room. There's a camera there, but the red light isn't blinking. Her arms tremble and her thoughts, which are always too quick for Bloo to catch unless she's transmitting, suggest she distrusts the camera's off switch. She doesn't touch him.

_You have to accept it. Berry wants you to use both sides._

_Berry can go fuck herself,_ he snarls. He's already tried to kill her twice.

She squeezes the rabbit's foot around her neck and he thinks it's the same shade of fur as Mr. Herriman. Her lips compress and color drains from her face.

_We're all that's left._

He doesn't answer her. He's gotten things down to an art, or so he thinks, blurting sentences notwithstanding. He strides to the window, except it's got the same view as ever, and this time, cautiously probes the air where she had touched it. It resonates, a deep sadness, and he sees Mac's face before his eyes. He whirls, staring at her.

_She won't let either of us rest until you're trained, Bloo- I mean, M.B._

_Who are you really?_ he demands and she sighs, a world weary sigh eclipsing all that has gone horrifically wrong in the last six months. She glances at the camera again, hesitates, and kisses him on the crown of his head. When he looks up at her, she crushes him against her in a hug so tight it takes his breath away.

"Just a friend, Bloo," she whispers into his ears. "An old family friend."

The camera light blinks back on and she shoves him away, like she had never hugged him before, and, sniffing, she walks out. He closes the door behind her and leans against it. His mind is a whirl and he hates it. He hates thinking. He wants to dull the pain entirely and stop existing. He doesn't want the brown power fusing with his, or it to be what's left of Mac. He doesn't want any of it. If he can't have Mac back, he doesn't want life.

Sniffling, he flings himself onto his bed and feels, in a way he loathes completely, his new abilities ebb and flow around him. He remembers the woman hugging and kissing him...and he stops existing for a few hours, when his mind graciously provides him with the blackouts he's been suffering so often since Mac died.


End file.
